The Haunting – Chapter 4
Spring 1891
Despite his best intentions, Castle was unable to completely pull back from investigating Pulgatti's case, and searching for a link to the untimely death of the young and beautiful Katherine Beckett. Even his relationship with Miss Gina Cowell was not enough to distract him from continuing his research. After the incident in January, the unexplained oddities persisted. His neatly organized desk would be rearranged. His favorite fountain pen would disappear for days at a time, only to reappear whenever he stumbled upon another message from the spirit that was haunting him.
He did not know what to make of it. It was both worrisome and exciting. Only he would get a thrill out of communicating with a specter from the great beyond. He would find notes, scribbled in that same elegant hand, all over the place, during odd hours of the day and night. The timing was random. It was nearly impossible to predict when or where a note would manifest. The one constant, however, was the message: Stop.
Sometimes it would be more than one word, more forceful. Others times it would be softer, more pleading. As a writer, Castle could tell that the author of these mysterious notes was conflicted. For a long time he was unwilling to even harbor the notion that the messages were being left by some spiritual phantom. It was an absurd idea, one that would surely land him in the asylum if spoken to anyone. But the messages persisted, as did his suspicions as to the author.
It was not until the messages started being signed with the initials "KB" that he began to accept the possibility that he really was being visited by the shade of the young Katherine Beckett. Having his suspicions confirmed, however, was both a blessing and a curse. During one of her afternoon visits, Gina discovered one of the notes, and not recognizing the handwriting, which was clearly feminine, accused him of having a mistress. The subsequent argument resulted in the termination of their courtship.
Several days after Gina had stormed out, Castle awoke to find a message for him on the nightstand by the bed, and, as always, his favorite fountain pen sat beside it. He picked up the scrap of paper, and read the elegant curved lettering, a small smile forming on his lips.
I am sorry – KB, it read.
Castle did not know what compelled him to do it, but something inside him just seemed convinced it would work. Picking up the pen, he scribbled out a reply: It was not your fault – RC. He left the paper on the nightstand and then got up out of bed, forgetting about it as he went about the rest of his day.
Castle had two appointments scheduled, both with potential. He spent part of the morning reading through some of the tomes in the lounge, before departing to meet up with a new acquaintance for lunch. He had met Kevin Ryan, a true Irish policeman if ever there was one, during a social gathering with Gina a few weeks back, and had mentioned his interest in the Pulgatti case. Ryan had offered to show him the police records, and answer any questions he might have. It was a relationship Castle intended on cultivating. It never hurt to have friends within the New York City Police Department.